I do not know what to say think feel so I spoke to my lover--who is like my own soul--and he told me he did not believe in the separation of body and mind but that the electric current of thought was no different than my automatic circulation of blood and that I should pay no attention to what is mutated and swims in the lobes because the water of my brain does not match reality. I agreed, and we kissed, but I thought that imagination itself was of god (even if It does not exist) and that the reality of my experience of the universe is absolutely ordinary, but nonetheless remarkable. There is not a division between the fantastic and the mundane.
I began to think of myself and to whom I was speaking : who is the I that talks and how have they lived and died, do they have gender (a word that dissolved when speaking of the ego), what is between my marrow and will I remember what happens after death because through fantasy I sometimes feel my conception. My skin crumbled in my palms so I listed all of the colors that reminded me of my lover's skin and semen: aero, amaranth, azure, bone, byzantine, cardinal, champagne, deer, eminence, french wine, gold, harlequin, indigo, jade, jasmine, june bud, lemon, lust, magenta, misty rose, moonstone, palatinate blue, silver, patriarch, peru, pink pearl, psychedelic purple, rich lilac, saffron, seashell, silver, soap, timberwolf, ultramarine, violet, white smoke.
Truth came back with its clouds and technology, warm thick May-storm air and I breathed because I am sewn into the fabric of reality and I watch the infant birds come out of their nests to the grass with their soft mouths and I understand the anger of birds more than my own language. Their feathers are more expansive than thought, the stretching of their wings cosmogyral.
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